


eyes on the prize

by thewalrus_said



Series: the ceaseless watcher coffee shop [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (no one dies), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Arson, Elias Is A Little Bastard Man, Engagement, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Or to put it the TMA way:, The Buried - Freeform, The Desolation, Trapped in a Burning Building, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24587143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said
Summary: Jon makes his play; unfortunately, Elias makes his, too.(A look at the gang eighteen months later.)
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Series: the ceaseless watcher coffee shop [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777234
Comments: 24
Kudos: 158





	eyes on the prize

**Author's Note:**

> This is not so much a fic as two fics smushed together in a series-of-vignettes style with a vague overarching plot. I put this disclaimer to appease my own conscience; [Rae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/raedear) assures me that it is, in fact, a coherent _thing_. So I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The thing was, okay, Martin knew it was coming. They’d had  _ talks, _ Jon asking questions in a stiltedly casual tone and Martin trying not to vibrate off the couch as he responded; they’d  _ discussed _ it. They knew each other’s ring sizes. So it’s not like Martin was completely blindsided when he came home on their eighteen-month anniversary to find a candlelit dinner waiting for him. He more or less knew what was coming. But that didn’t make it any less exciting.

Jon had gone all in, his grandmother’s murgh cholay and a fancier pinot than they usually sprung for; Martin sensed Basira’s hand in the choice. Martin tried to change out of his sweater into something more suitable, but Jon wouldn’t let him; “You’re perfect as you are,” he insisted, making Martin roll his eyes and blush uncontrollably at the same time. Jon’s trouser legs were rolled up past his ankles anyway, so at least they matched.

“Holy hell, Jon, you’ve outdone yourself,” Martin sighed, setting his empty plate aside and stretching. “That was delicious.”

“Happy anniversary,” Jon said, eyes meltingly warm in the candles’ flickering light.

“Happy anniversary.”

They cuddled up together on the couch, Martin’s arm wrapped firmly around Jon’s shoulders. “I thought we might take this opportunity to have a relationship check-in,” Jon mumbled into Martin’s chest.

Martin laughed. “Alright. I’m happy.”

Jon leaned back and looked up at his face. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m happy too. I think things have been going really well.” It was true; they fought, but they always talked it out within twenty-four hours, and though Martin played up his jealousy over the Institute’s new public relations manager, he knew Jon loved him in a way that sometimes made him feel very small in the face of it. In a good way.

“Couldn’t be going better,” Martin said, smiling down at him.

Jon smiled back for a moment and then coughed. “About that. I actually think things could be going better. I think we could be even happier than we are.”

Here it was. Martin tried not to squirm. “Oh?”

Jon unlatched himself from Martin’s torso and went to the mantle, where he picked up a small black box. Martin’s heart was pounding in his chest, all the blood in his body rushing into his cheeks as Jon knelt and opened it. “Martin Blackwood. Will you marry me?”

“Oh,  _ Jon,” _ was all Martin managed before he had to fling himself off the couch and wrap himself around Jon again. “Yes, yes, of  _ course _ yes.”

Jon clung to him, small hands bunching up the fabric of Martin’s sweater. “I didn’t really think you’d say no, but I’m still so relieved,” he said after a few minutes, laughing into Martin’s neck.

Martin squeezed him even tighter. “There was never a chance I’d say no.” He leaned back. “Ring me.”

Jon snorted but picked up the box and pulled out the larger ring. “If you don’t like it, we can get others,” he started, but Martin shook his head.

“Ring. Me. I love it, put it on me already.”

Jon slid the ring onto Martin’s finger, and Martin snatched at the box to reciprocate with the smaller one still inside. They were simple, silver bands with emeralds studded across the top, and they fit like a dream. “You did good, Sims,” Martin declared.

Jon smiled and reached for Martin’s hand, bringing it to his lips at the same time Martin leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

Martin hauled them both back up onto the couch after a few more minutes and they pulled up a group call with all their friends, Tim and Sasha and Melanie and Georgie and Basira all cheering as Martin shoved his hand in front of the camera. “Basira, were you the wine?” Martin asked.

She laughed. “That obvious?”

“Not Jon’s usual style.”

“It was lovely, Basira, thank you. The perfect pairing,” Jon said from his place tucked into Martin’s side.

“Of course.” She looked off-camera for a moment, then back at the screen. “Daisy’s home, so I’ve got to run, but congratulations, you two.” She waved and left the call. Martin kissed Jon’s forehead again; he had gone a little tense at the mention of Daisy, but relaxed under Martin’s touch.

“Have you decided how long an engagement you want to have?” Georgie asked; she and Melanie were eight months into a year-long one themselves.

“Short,” Jon and Martin said at the same time. Tim cackled.

\----

Basira was in Jon’s office when he arrived the next morning, triple shot from Ceaseless Watcher in hand, and demanded to see the ring before he’d even taken his jacket off. Melanie made her way in and ran her fingers over it too: “Good quality silver,” she said appreciatively, “and those emeralds are big. You did good, Sims.”

“That’s what Martin said,” Jon replied, flushing. “If I could have my hand back now?” She grumbled and released it.

“It was good, though?” she asked after a moment’s silence. “You’re happy, and all that?”

“Yeah,” he said, and smiled to himself. “Really happy.”

“Good,” Melanie said firmly. Basira just patted him on the back.

To Jon’s complete surprise, he looked up at a knock on his door two hours later to see Daisy, her hand still awkwardly raised. “Daisy, hi,” he stammered, standing. “What can I do for you?”

She took a single step into his office. “I just wanted to let you know that Oliver and I have finished that press release,” she said, hands tightly clasped behind her back. “He’s having legal look it over and then it should go out tomorrow morning, unless you want a look at it too.”

“Oh,” he said. “That’s good. Thank you for letting me know. And no, I trust the two of you, and legal know more than I do about this sort of thing. It’ll be fine to go out without my eyes on it.”

“Right.” She gave him a single, brisk nod and turned on her heel. Jon sank back into his chair. “Oh,” she said, startling him again by turning back at the door. “Congratulations. On Martin.”

“Thank you,” Jon managed.

She gave him another nod and made to sweep out of his office, but was brought up short by the sudden appearance of Jon’s boss. “Ms. Tonner,” Elias said smoothly, stepping aside. “What a pleasure.” Daisy gave no response, but Jon could see her hands balled into tight fists at her sides as she all but ran from the room. “Director,” Elias went on, stepping into Jon’s office and shutting the door behind him. “I hope you don’t mind my dropping in like this.”

“Not at all.” Jon gestured to the chair opposite his desk and Elias sank into it. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to give you a little heads-up,” Elias said, leaning conspiratorially over the desk. “I’ve made some changes to the Institute’s general insurance policies, and I didn’t want you to be surprised if you went looking and saw some things were different.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “What sort of changes?”

“Oh, little things,” Elias said airily. “Personal liability, accidents, acts of God. Just beefing up around the corners. You never know when the hammer will fall.”

“Right.” If Jon’s voice sounded a little flat, Elias didn’t comment on it. “Well, thank you for letting me know, Mr. Bouchard. I’ll be sure to follow up if I have any questions.”

“Do.” Elias smirked. “A little bird also told me of your most exciting personal news, and I wanted to offer you my congratulations in person.”

Jon’s natural inclination to smile when thinking of Martin warred with his Elias-induced disgust, and the result was some sort of horrible smirk that, thankfully, Elias didn’t react to. “Thank you, Mr. Bouchard. It is very exciting.”

“I hope you will convey my very best wishes to your intended.” Elias stood. “Well, I’ve taken up quite enough of your time, Director. I’ll see myself out.”

Melanie came back into his office after Elias was gone. “Did I hear Daisy in here earlier?” she asked, plonking down in the seat Elias had just vacated. “Talking to you? Willingly?”

Jon had long given up trying to tell Melanie not to eavesdrop on his open-door meetings; she just claimed heightened hearing in compensation and said she couldn’t help it. “You did, yes.”

“She must be thawing.” Melanie tipped her head back. “Will you finally tell me what happened with her?”

Gossip, Jon knew, led to an unhappy workplace. On the other hand, his therapist was on a month-long vacation and Jon had so far told no one what had happened with Daisy. He got up and shut the door. She pumped her fist as it clicked closed.

Jon settled back into his chair. “Six months ago was the end of our fiscal year, and Daisy was in charge of putting together another investment portfolio since we came out in the black again. She drew it all up, meticulously researched, everything was perfect.”

“Right,” Melanie said. “It’s Daisy.”

“Well, Elias insists on personally okaying all investments before they’re made. They had a closed-door meeting to go over the portfolio, and I’ve not been able to find out exactly what happened in there, but from what I can tell, he just shut everything down. She came to me  _ furious, _ demanded I overrule him, but my hands were tied. Elias has been very clever about what powers he’s kept as the founder, and there was nothing I could do.”

Melanie whistled. “So she blames you?”

“I think so.” Jon sighed. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but since then I’ve gotten three calls to serve as a reference for her. She’s looking, and she’ll probably take Basira with her.”

“Did you give her a good reference?”

“Of course,” Jon said, a little offended. “She’s fantastic at her job, and I’m not going to force her to stay where she feels unappreciated.”

“Huh. That’s heavy.” Melanie quirked a grin. “But she didn’t send Oliver to tell you about the press release, so that’s something.”

“Indeed.” Though she couldn’t see it, Jon fixed her with a stern look. “Obviously all of this stays in this room.”

“I know the drill, Jon.” Melanie stood, cane in hand. “Good luck with it all. I don’t envy you.”

“I’ll sort it.”

She hesitated. “You’re a good boss, you know? You care, and you look out for us. You’re the best boss I’ve ever had.” With that, she made her way out of his office, leaving him stunned and warmed through behind her.

\----

“That’s been What the Ghost, folks. Stay spooked out there.” Georgie clicked the recording off and pulled off her headset, sighing. Not her best episode. Well, they couldn’t all be winners, and she knew her base well enough to know they’d eat it up anyway. Lackluster ending or not, it had romance, murder, and a couple of well-placed puns, and that was all she needed to keep her fans coming back for more.

She checked the time. Late enough that even if she started right away, dinner wouldn’t be on the table when Melanie got home. Takeout it was.

Melanie texted when she was on her way out of the office and Georgie called the order in, then cuddled herself up on the couch and let the Admiral pad his way into her lap. “Your mama’s lost her spark,” she murmured to him, scratching behind his ears. “She needs some inspiration.” He mrruped at her and lashed his tail back and forth. “Yes, alright,” she said, moving her scratching hand down to the base of his tail.

“Hello, my lovelies,” Melanie sang out when she got home, cane clattering against the hardwood floor as she bent to unlace her boots. “Dinner here yet?”

Georgie checked the app. “Five minutes.”

“Hungarian again?”

“I had a craving,” Georgie said defensively, making Melanie cackle.

Divested of her shoes, Melanie made her way over to the couch and leaned over it. Georgie took hold of her face and pulled her down for a Spider-Man kiss. “How was your day?”

“Weird,” Melanie said. She came around to sit on the couch properly, one hand unerringly seeking out the Admiral’s fur. “Jon confided in me.”

“Confided in you?” Georgie repeated. “About what?”

“About what went down with Daisy.”

“Whoa. I thought he’d never tell anyone. What happened?”

“Apparently she had a meeting with Elias about the Institute’s investments for this year, and he shut it all down, and she went to Jon to overrule him but he couldn’t.”

“That’s all?” Georgie raised her eyebrows. “From what you’ve said, she hasn’t been in a room with him for six months, and it’s over an investment portfolio?”

“‘S what he said.” Melanie let herself sag into the couch. “I told him he was a good boss.”

Georgie considered this. “Is he?”

“Yeah,” Melanie said after a moment. “I know you don’t believe it, but he is.”

“It’s not that I don’t  _ believe _ he’s a good boss,” Georgie objected. “It’s just that my overriding memory of Jon is a young anarchist off his face on cheap whiskey screaming Tears for Fears karaoke. It’s hard to believe he’s become, well, a  _ businessman.” _

Melanie snorted. “Were you up there singing with him?”

“Obviously.” Georgie’s phone went off in her hand. “Food’s here. I’ll get it.” She leaned in and kissed Melanie on the side of the head before getting off the couch.

They ate in the living room, the vibes in the apartment too unsettled for sitting at the kitchen table. “How was your recording today?” Melanie asked, mouth full of goulash.

“Weird,” Georgie said. “Not my best, but I won’t lose anyone over it.”

“That’s it,” Melanie declared. “We need some self-care. We’re taking a bath tonight.”

“Oooh.” Georgie felt her face light up. “Good idea.”

Their baths were  _ legendary, _ at least among the two of them, who were the only people that knew about them. They had fancy bubble bath and grainy exfoliating soap, and their bathroom steamed up gloriously. Georgie sank into the hot water with a relieved groan. “Oh, good call, babe, I really needed this.”

“I have the best ideas. Budge up.” Melanie felt for the middle of the tub and swung her leg over, clambering in with a minimum of water loss and settling back against Georgie’s chest. Georgie wrapped her arms around her. “Yes, cuddle me,” Melanie said. “Cuddle the emotions away.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how it works,” Georgie said in her ear, amused.

“Yes it is. Hugs make the awkward emotions go away, and hot water. I had a  _ feeling  _ today, Georgie. In front of  _ Jon. _ Make it go away.”

“In that case.” Georgie squeezed her tighter.

They stayed in the bath for a luxurious forty-five minutes before even starting to think about washing themselves, and Georgie’s skin was pruned to hell by the time they pulled the drain plug and stood up. The Admiral, furious at being left out, was scratching at the door and mewling. “You don’t want to be in here, Your Excellency,” Melanie said, rapping on the door back at him. “Too much wet for your dignity.”

“He has to supervise us,” Georgie said, rubbing at her hair with a towel. “What if we fall and he’s not there to protect us?”

“That’s us. Risk takers.”

Baths were exhausting, and they went straight to bed afterwards, all the tension leached from Georgie’s muscles until she could barely keep her eyes open. Melanie slipped her earbuds in and Georgie turned out the lights, flopping across the bed until her head lay on Melanie’s shoulder. Melanie scratched at the nape of her neck the same way she did for the Admiral, and Georgie purred. She felt Melanie’s laugh vibrate through her chest. “Night, love.”

“Night, darlin’.” Georgie fell asleep to the inaudible hum of Melanie’s audiobook radiating from her earbuds.

\----

They’d been dating for nineteen months, they were  _ engaged, _ for God’s sake, and Martin’s stomach still gave a tiny little quiver whenever Jon entered the shop. “Morning,” he called out brightly. Jon had been dead to the world when Martin had left that morning, and he yawned widely as he approached the counter.

“Hazelnut and passion fruit triple shot with almond milk,” Tim said along with Martin, who glared at him. Tim sniggered and started putting together the drink.

“You look wrecked,” Martin said, turning back to Jon. There were deep bags under his eyes and his hair was falling out of its braid in long tendrils.

“Nightmares,” was all Jon said, but it was enough. Martin winced. “I’ll be alright with some coffee. How was your morning?”

“Fine. That busker was back at Notting Hill Gate, the one I told you about, that was lovely.” Martin finished counting out Jon’s change and handed it to him.

Jon stared at the coins in his hand blankly, then his eyes seemed to focus and he said, “This isn’t the usual amount.”

“Prices have gone up,” Tim said, handing Martin the cup and tapping the standee next to the register. “Effective immediately, I’m afraid.”

“Wow, that’s... quite a hike,” Jon said, eyebrows raising as he read the flyer. “Have you changed vendors or something?” He poured the change into the tip jar and started rooting around in his pockets.

“Nope,” Martin said. “Edict from on high, everything gets raised by half a pound. No idea why.”

Jon fished fifty pence out from the depths of his pockets and dumped it into the jar. “Hope it isn’t the start of a trend. I’ve got to run, love. See you for dinner?”

“I’ll meet you at the Institute,” Martin promised. Jon gave him a small smile and departed.

Tim clapped Martin on the shoulder. “He kept his tip the same. Marry him, Martin.”

“I’m  _ going _ to,” Martin said, waggling his ring in Tim’s face. “You can’t have him.”

“A tragedy I weep for every day,” Tim said solemnly. Martin rolled his eyes and relinquished the register, going into the back to relieve Sasha.

Martin had a few hours spare between when his shift ended and when he had to meet Jon for dinner. It  _ was _ technically enough time to get in a good visit with his mum—but then, was a visit with his mum ever really good? He went to the park instead, running himself ragged with the dogs there. Martin was a regular, and could hold up a decent conversation with their owners as he threw sticks and chased after the puppies.

He left with enough time to go home and change before meeting Jon, arriving in the Institute’s lobby within seconds of Jon stepping out of the elevator. “Good timing,” he said. Jon didn’t say anything, but walked straight forward until he ran into Martin’s chest and stayed there. Martin wrapped his arms around him and squeezed. “Rough day?”

“Ughhhhhhhh,” Jon groaned, working his hands free to hug back. “I’ve been on the phone with Peter Lukas all afternoon. He’s got some bug in his ear about a new advertising campaign, how reading keeps you isolated from the daily grind of horrible  _ other people, _ and I’ve been trying to talk him down for a week.”

“Wow,” Martin said. “That sounds awful.”

Jon surfaced from Martin’s sweater. “It’s terrible. But you’re here now, and that’s good. Hungry?”

“Starved.”

It was the first Thursday of the month, and that meant getting cheap street food and eating while they wandered the city. “Recovered from your nightmares alright?” Martin asked over steaming gyros.

Jon shrugged. “Still a little off, I suppose, but I’m alright.” He smiled at Martin. “Better for having seen you at the shop this morning.”

Martin felt his face flush and hid his smile behind his gyro. “You see me at the shop every morning, Jon.”

“And it makes every morning better.”

They meandered through the streets, tossing their trash into waste bins as they went and clasping their freed hands together. “Did you go see your mother this afternoon?” Jon asked, ducking around a sandwich board.

Martin sighed. “No, I went and played with dogs instead.”

Jon laughed. “You’re going to have to tell her we’re getting married sometime, Martin.”

“I know, I know, I just.” Martin scrubbed his free hand over his face. “She’s gonna make some little  _ comment _ about ‘Oh, someone actually wants you?’ and she’ll say something awful about you, and then she’ll make it all about her, and ugh, why can’t she ever be nice.”

“Martin.” Martin looked at him. “I lied. You don’t have to tell her at all. We don’t have to invite her to the wedding.”

This was so shocking that Martin stopped short on the sidewalk. “What? Of course we have to invite her.” She was his  _ mother. _ Mothers were at your wedding, as long as they were alive. It was their  _ job. _ Even though he knew she’d be horrible. It was just something he had to put up with.

“We really don’t. Look, Martin,” Jon said, stepping closer and putting a hand on Martin’s cheek. “We’re keeping it small, right? All your friends know how she is, they would know she wasn’t really happy for you. And more importantly,  _ you’d _ know that she wasn’t really happy for you. And I don’t want that for you, ever, but especially not on our wedding day. We can tell her after we’re married, or not at all if you’d rather not deal with it.” He gave Martin a tender little smile. “Just think about it, okay?”

“O-Okay,” Martin managed, his mind whirling.

“Good.” Jon took his hand from Martin’s face and stepped back. “I think with that, we’d better be heading home, don’t you?” Martin nodded dumbly, and Jon led him by the hand to the nearest Underground station, and through the twisting lines back to their cozy little flat.

Jon left him alone to think, disappearing into the bathroom for his shower. Martin tidied the living room in a daze, thinking hard, and then gave up and sank onto the sofa. In the corner of his mind that wasn’t frantically rethinking his entire relationship to his mother, he ached for the Admiral. Absent a big fluffy cat, Martin hugged a pillow and waited for Jon.

Jon appeared after a few minutes, padding silently over to the sofa and crouching down. “What do you need?”

“I want a cat,” Martin said, tearing his gaze from the middle distance to rest on Jon’s face. “Can we get a cat?”

Jon rubbed his knee. “Not a dog?”

Martin shook his head. “We couldn’t give a dog a proper life, not with both of us working, but we could do a cat. Can we get a cat?”

Jon rose and climbed onto the sofa. Martin threw aside his pillow and pulled him into his lap. “I’ll do some research on local shelters tomorrow,” Jon said. “We can go looking this weekend.”

“Thank you.” Martin buried his face in Jon’s wet hair. Jon let him sit for fifteen minutes like that, not moving a muscle from where he was sprawled out across Martin, until Martin said quietly, “And you wouldn’t... you wouldn’t think less of me? If we just didn’t tell her? Ever?”

“Not at all.” Jon rubbed his hand along Martin’s arm. “I’d know it was because you were protecting yourself, and I’d support you entirely.”

Martin let out a loud, explosive breath. “I don’t think I can make this decision tonight.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“But... thank you, Jon. For telling me I could make it at all.”

Jon picked up Martin’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

\----

“So really, it just came down to acceptability, and most of that investment profile simply wasn’t acceptable,” Elias said smoothly, wrapping his long hands around one knee where it sat propped against Jon’s desk.

“But I’ve looked at it, and 90% of the investments Daisy was proposing were the same as last year’s,” Jon said, leaning forward. “And the new ones seemed like perfectly safe bets. I did my research.”

“Oh, research can only take you so far, Director.” Elias leaned back in his chair. “I haven’t gotten to where I am based on research alone, but a potent combination of research and instinct.”

Jon blinked. “So, your instincts told you to trash the profile?”

Elias chortled. “I wouldn’t put it so colorfully, Director, but I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

Jon sighed. “Mr. Bouchard, I want to be very frank with you. We’re on the brink of losing her as an employee, and I think that would be a real loss, not only to the fundraising department, but to the Institute as a whole.”

Elias cocked his head to one side. “While that is concerning, I have the utmost faith in your ability to retain her talents.”

Before Jon could answer, his phone rang. “I’m so sorry, I thought I silenced it this morning,” he said, standing slightly to pull it out of his pocket. That was strange—it was Martin. He silenced it and placed it face-down on the desk. “I’m not sure I can retain her, is the thing. She’s extremely frustrated by the situation. If you could just tell me what exactly you said to her in that meeting—”

His phone started buzzing. “If you need to take that, Director, feel free,” Elias said. “I don’t mind waiting.”

Martin never called Jon while he was at work, just texted. “Thank you,” Jon said and picked up his phone, sliding his finger across the screen. “Martin?”

“Don’t freak out,” Martin said.

Jon’s stomach plummeted. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m  _ absolutely fine, _ everyone is fine, no one was hurt.”

“Martin.”

“Ceaseless Watcher caught fire.”

_ “What?” _

“Something to do with the toaster? I’m not sure. But I’m going to be late meeting you, I’m the senior employee on staff and the police have questions, and then I’ll have to go home and change clothes...”

“Don’t be absurd,” Jon snapped. “I’ll be right there.”

Martin let out a relieved sigh. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“See you soon.”

Jon hung up and turned to Elias. “Everything alright?” the man asked before Jon could say anything.

“My partner’s workplace is on fire,” Jon said. “He’s alright, but I have to go. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.” Elias said. “You go at once, Director. We can finish this conversation another time. And it sounds like I’ll be receiving a few phone calls before too long, besides.”

That was right, Jon realized. Elias also owned the coffee shop. “Thank you.”

“Off you pop,” Elias said with a smirk. “I’ll show myself out.” Jon all but ran out of the office.

He arrived at Ceaseless Watcher half an hour later to find the fire put out, smoke still issuing from the windows. There was a crowd gathered across the street; he bypassed the knot of people and ran forward. A firefighter stopped him in the middle of the road. “That’s my partner,” Jon said, pointing at Martin, who was in conversation with another firefighter, an orange shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

Martin caught sight of him, said something to the firefighter, and made his way over to Jon. “Hey,” he said apologetically, voice tired. Jon wrapped him in as big a hug as he could manage. “I’m just about done, I think,” Martin said, arms exiting the blanket to encircle Jon in turn. “They’ve got ahold of Mr. Bouchard’s phone number from the insurance company, so they don’t need me anymore.”

Jon pulled back. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Martin shucked the blanket and handed it to the nearest firefighter, who took it and gave him the okay to leave. Jon found himself entirely unwilling to let go of Martin’s hand, and luckily Martin didn’t try and take it back. “Do you feel up for the subway, or should I call a taxi?”

Martin screwed up his face. “Will you be annoyed if I say taxi?”

“Hush,” Jon said, fingers of his free hand already flying over his phone.

The taxi met them at the corner of the blocked-off street and they were home in minutes. Jon put Martin directly into the shower, bundling his smoky clothes into the hamper as Martin stepped under the spray. “Stay?” Martin asked, wetting his hair.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jon promised. He leaned his hip against the bathroom counter. “What on earth happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Martin said. “I was in the back taking inventory when I heard a shriek. I ran out to the front to find the toaster on fire. Must’ve shorted out or something. I tried the fire extinguisher but it didn’t do anything. Barely any foam came out, I must’ve been doing it wrong. Tim and Sasha got everyone out while I was doing that, and by the time I made it out the fire trucks had come.”

“You’ve been trained in how to use fire extinguishers,” Jon said. “I’m sure you were doing it right and the thing was just faulty. You should have left it and gotten out yourself, though.”

Martin laughed. “That’s what the firemen said, and Sasha. But it was small to begin with, I thought I could handle it.”

“Well, you’re very brave, and I admire that about you, but I’d rather have you alive,” Jon said. The sight of Martin rinsing off in their shower, very much alive and not burnt to a crisp, was starting to slow his heart rate a little, but he was still on edge. “Next time, don’t be a hero.”

Martin shut off the water and stepped onto the mat. Jon passed him a towel. “No promises,” he said teasingly. “Seriously, Jon. I’m alright, no harm done except to the building.” Jon frowned but tipped forward hopefully; Martin laughed and kissed his forehead. “Thank you for coming to get me,” he murmured.

“I’ll always come for you,” Jon said firmly. “No matter what.”

“And I’ll always come for you,” Martin said. “I promise.” He went back to toweling himself dry, and Jon let his eyes rake over him.

\----

“Oh my god, Sasha, come look at this cat,” Tim said, frantically beckoning her over to the sofa. “She’d be  _ perfect _ for Jonmartin.”

“I still say that’s a terrible ship name,” Sasha retorted, but she did come over and plop down next to him, leaning on his shoulder to peer at the computer. “Oh my god, her  _ eyes.” _

_ “Right?” _ Tim pulled up Facebook and sent the link to Martin. “I bet she’s the cat they go with.”

“You’ve said that about the last five cats you’ve sent them,” Sasha said. She lifted one hand and inserted the tip of her pinky finger gently into Tim’s ear. He didn’t have the slightest clue why, but she seemed to be enjoying herself, so he held still.

“Yeah, but I really mean it this time.” On the laptop screen, Tim could see Martin’s reply:  _!!!!! We’ll visit her tomorrow! _ “Martin likes her.”

“Martin likes all animals.” Sasha removed her finger and leaned forward to kiss Tim’s cheek. “But I hope you’re right. That poor little dear deserves a pair of sweet dads.” Sometimes TIm really loved her.

“Sometimes I really love you,” he said, turning to face her.

She laughed. “Only sometimes?”

“I love you all the time, lowkey-like,” Tim said, “but  _ sometimes _ I  _ really _ love you.”

“That sounds like a confession,” she purred, and then she was kissing him.

The kissing was new, only in the past week of paid leave from Ceaseless Watcher, and Tim had hand-to-God never been happier. Sasha was a great kisser, and she fit in his arms like she was made to be there, and just looking at her face had always made him warm inside but now it was twenty times better. She shuffled a little closer to him on the couch and he sighed, putting a hand to her waist and slipping the other up along her jaw.

She spent the night, curled up next to him in bed in one of his oversized band t-shirts, and fell asleep holding his hand. Tim said a couple of thankful prayers, one to God and one to his brother, and fell asleep too.

Tim made breakfast in the morning, his famous omelettes, and Sasha took one bite, stood up, and straddled him in his chair. “I think we have to get married,” she said and kissed him. He fed her the rest of the omelette with her in his lap, her bony butt digging into his leg.

Sasha went home after lunch and Tim puttered around his apartment, cleaning a little bit but mostly basking. He’d have to buy that toaster a coffee when they got back to work.

Martin texted him late in the afternoon, a picture of Jon holding a tiny kitten up to his face.  _ Meet Sir Pounce-a-Lot. _ Tim screenshotted it immediately and sent it to Sasha, then texted back,  _ Isn’t she a girl kitty? _

_ Sir. Pounce. A. Lot. _

Tim and Martin made plans for him to come over in a week to meet the new lady, to give her time to adjust to her new surroundings, and then Sasha called. “Your instincts were right,” she said when he picked up. He could hear the smile in her voice.

“They always are.” Tim collapsed onto his sofa with a loud sigh. “For instance, my first shift at the Watcher, I met my two shiftmates and my instincts told me we’d all be together forever.”

“Planning on inviting Martin into our little tete-a-tetes?”

Tim shuddered. “I don’t fancy Jon prying my eyes out with a spoon, thanks ever so.” Sasha cackled down the phone. Seizing his chance, he went on, “Can we talk about it, though? We haven’t really yet.”

Sasha hummed. “Alright. What do you want to know?”

Tim leaned his head back against the armrest. “What changed? Why now?”

“Well, you’ve been on my list for a while, and now we have this time off, I figure why not get our feet under us romantically before we go back to being coworkers?” Very matter-of-fact; very  _ Sasha. _

Tim laughed. “I’ve been on your list?”

“Mhm. My to-do list.”

Now it was Tim’s turn to cackle. “So you liked the look of me too, all those years ago.”

“Eh,” Sasha said. “You’re alright, but I’ve seen prettier.” Tim gasped, mock-offended. She snorted and went on, “It was more... I liked the way you look at me. Like I’m important.”

“You are important,” Tim said. “To me and to the world.”

“Exactly.” Tim could hear her shuffling around her own apartment. “What about you?” she asked. “What made you want me? Besides my stunning good looks.”

“Besides that,” Tim said. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve met Jon,” she pointed out.

“Eh. Jon’s clever. Showy. You’re, like, quiet-smart, but it’s obvious right away. And you’re funny, and... I dunno, warm? You’re just great. Great radiates off you.”

“Go on,” she drawled, and they both laughed, subsiding into a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“We’re invited to come meet Sir Pounce-a-Lot next weekend,” Tim offered eventually. “Want to grab lunch beforehand?”

“It’s a date.” Sasha paused. “Wasn’t she a girl cat?”

“That’s what  _ I _ said!”

\----

Daisy got up and walked to the printer again, heels abandoned under her desk.

“Are you printing that report page-by-page and getting up for each one?” Basira asked from her own desk, quirking an eyebrow at Daisy.

“Getting my steps in.” Daisy picked up the still-warm sheet from the printer and turned to pace back to her seat.

Basira sighed. “Look, if you really hate it here, we can always bail. Mission failed. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Daisy shook her head, settling back down into her chair. “No. I don’t give up on things.”

“Then can you at least wear your shoes?” Basira’s voice took on a pleading quality. “Buy flats or something if you hate heels, and I know you hate heels.” Daisy just snorted and printed off the next page.

Basira left for her weekly meeting with Jon an hour later, leaving Daisy alone in their shared office, still wearing down the carpet from computer to printer. It gave her time to think. They could always leave, Daisy knew their supervisors would understand, but she wasn’t a quitter, and Basira wasn’t either. Even if Daisy could have compromised with her own nature, she couldn’t risk Basira growing to resent her. It would all go south if she lost Basira. But  _ damn, _ did Daisy hate it here.

She had just picked up the last page of the report from the printer when a loud  _ boom _ rocked the office and one wall of her office was suddenly on top of her, knocking her to the ground. The building erupted in screams. All her training left her and she lay there stunned for a moment before it came rushing back in a wave. She tried to roll over but the weight on her back was too great, and her left leg gave a shriek of pain when she moved. Broken, she decided, gasping.

Daisy could hear the pounding of feet all around her as people fled the offices in droves. The fire escape went right past their window but she was on the ground behind the desks, invisible to people outside. She threw her arms out in front of her, dug her nails into the carpet, and  _ pulled, _ gaining a few inches before she had to stop, biting her lip against a pained scream.

The room was growing hot. Daisy twisted around and saw flames licking through the great hole in the office wall. She twisted back and tried to crawl again, but all it did was settle the rubble until it was pressing against the break in her leg. She was stuck. Buried.

She screamed for help, but the building was empty by this point, and there was no one to hear her. She screamed anyway,  _ refusing _ to die trapped and burnt alive; she would dig through the floor with her fingernails, do  _ anything _ but lie here and wait to burn...

After a few minutes her screams died out, all the rage leaving her in a rush. The room was growing still hotter by the minute. Resolutely she tried again to struggle from under the wood and drywall on her back, but it was no use. Daisy sagged against the floor, exhausted.

“—aisy? Daisy? Daisy! Can you hear me?”

Daisy lifted her head. “Jon!” she shouted. “Jon, I’m in here!”

Footsteps pounding, and then he flung himself across the threshold to her office and dropped to his knees. “Are you hurt?”

“Leg’s broken,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Can’t move. What are you  _ doing _ here, get out, get out  _ now—” _

“Basira knows I came back for you,” Jon said. “She’ll send the firefighters after us.” He started trying to move the rubble, hissing as his hands met hot wood and already-smoldering drywall. Daisy heard the unmistakable sound of a computer starting to melt behind her.

“Jon, you have to  _ go,” _ she repeated. “Leave me, I’ll be fine. You won’t do anything but burn your hands, and then the rest of you.  _ Leave me.” _

“No!” He seized another piece of wood and screamed; she twisted to see him toss it aside, already burning. The flames started to eat through the carpet as he cradled his hand, stinking of burnt flesh.

“Jon,” Daisy said urgently, “You have to go. I’ll be alright, I’ve trained for this, but you haven’t. Get out while you still can.”

He shook his head savagely. “I’m not leaving you!”

“Look, you can’t dig me out, and even if you could I can’t walk, and you’re not strong enough to carry me out,” Daisy said, trying for reasonable. “All you can do is burn with me.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do.” She looked at him. His jaw was hard, stubborn as a mule. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

It was no use. She’d seen that look in a thousand people’s eyes; he was set, and there was no moving him. Not that she could force him, trapped as she was. “Alright,” she said, giving in. “Alright.” Jon took her hand and they waited, the rubble growing hotter on Daisy’s back, the acrid stink of melting plastic in the air.

It seemed like forever, waiting in that heating oven, flames loudly crackling around them, but eventually they heard the heavy tread of booted footsteps. “Mr. Sims?” they heard someone shout. “Ms. Tonner?”

“In here!” Jon screamed. He lunged for the door but caught himself, unwilling to let go of Daisy’s hand. “We’re in here! She’s trapped!” The footsteps started to run, and then their saviors appeared.

One firefighter bodily grabbed Jon and carted him away, ripping his hand out of Daisy’s, while the rest set to work digging her out with their thick gloves. “Leg’s broken,” she called. “I can’t walk.”

“We have a med team waiting outside, ma’am,” said one of them. “It’ll all be over soon.”

\----

Jon sat in the cold interrogation room, thick bandages wrapped around his right hand. They’d taken his shock blanket away. He coughed again, wet and foul, traces of black soot still appearing in his elbow even hours after he’d been dragged out of the building without Daisy. He hadn’t seen her since, and no one would tell him if she was alright. “Can I have some water?” he shouted, or tried to, descending into another wrack of coughs. “Can someone tell me if Daisy Tonner is alive?”

They left him waiting for another forty-five minutes before the door opened and an unfamiliar person entered the room carrying a manila folder. “Jonathan Sims,” she purred, pulling the chair opposite him out with her foot and sinking down into it. “I’m Detective Perry, and you’re gonna tell me everything before we’re done here.”

“I’ll tell you everything I know, but first, is Daisy Tonner alright?”

“Oh, no no no,” she tsked, shaking her head. “That’s not how this works. I ask the questions. Why did you blow up your office, Mr. Sims?”

“What?” Jon blinked. “I didn’t blow it up. I was in a meeting, and then there was this loud explosion a few floors up.”

“A meeting.” Her face was expressionless; it could have been made of wax. “With whom?”

“Basira Hussain,” he said, suddenly nervous. “Why do you think I blew it up?”

“I told you,” she snapped, “I’m asking the questions. Bombs can be set remotely, put on timers. We’ll talk to this  _ Basira, _ but you’re not in the clear yet.” Setting the folder on the table, she removed some papers and spread them out. “These look familiar to you?”

He picked one up and studied it. “These are our insurance policies,” he said, frowning. “I recognize the policy number. But these aren’t right, the numbers are all wrong, and this lists me as the payee. It should go to Elias Bouchard.”

“These are the most up-to-date files the insurance company has,” Detective Perry said smoothly. “And they’re very clear. Quite a high arson payout, straight to your pockets.”

“No,” Jon said, shaking his head and setting the paper back down. “No, Elias Bouchard told me three months ago he was changing some of our policies, but I checked and it wasn’t to  _ this. _ He just made some worker’s comp edits, acts of God insurance, that sort of thing, and he was still the policy holder.” Detective Perry looked unconvinced. Jon leaned forward. “Look, I  _ checked, _ alright, after he told me. It was December, must have been the 17th, I called the insurance company and they sent over the updated policies. I still have them on my hard drive.”

“Your hard drive’s melted,” Detective Perry said flatly. Jon winced. She leaned forward too, setting her elbows on the table. “What did you do to the coffee shop?”

“What?” He shook his head. “What, Ceaseless Watcher? I didn’t do anything to it!”

“It caught fire a few weeks ago too, didn’t it?” she asked. “Owned by your employer? Employs your partner? What, were the microaggressions getting too macro? I hear Elias isn’t the easiest character to get along with. Did dear Martin get denied a raise, was that it, so you thought you’d burn down both Bouchard holdings?”

“No, no, no,” Jon repeated, shaking his head. “No, I had  _ nothing to do _ with  _ either of them, _ I’m telling you. You’ve got it all wrong.”

She scoffed, but before she could say anything, the door swung open. “Basira?” Jon asked, squinting at her. “Why are you dressed like a cop?”

Basira ignored him. “Detective Perry,” she said firmly. “This is my case. You’re out of line.”

“Arson’s my department,” Detective Perry said, her face twisting in a nasty smile.

“And the Magnus Institute is my case,” Basira repeated. “Get out, Jude.” Perry scowled but stood, shoving the chair across the floor with a squeal and stomping out of the room. Basira shut the door behind her, tugged the chair back into place, and sat down, sliding a bottle of water across the table. “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Sims,” she said calmly.

Jon seized the bottle and drank deeply. “You’re a  _ cop?” _ he asked once he’d caught his breath, and then remembered. “Is Daisy alright?”

The first flicker of emotion he’d seen on her face since the explosion. “She’s in surgery, but they think she’ll make a full recovery, barring some burn scars. And yes, I am a cop, and so is she.”

Jon let out a long breath. “I’m glad she’ll be okay.”

“Me too.”

The rest of the situation clicked over in Jon’s mind, clearing through the relief. “Wait, you’re cops? But...” He faltered. “But you’re so good at your jobs.”

To his surprise, half her mouth lifted in a smile. “Thanks.”

“Look, what’s going on?” he asked, shivering. He missed the blanket. “I didn’t burn down the Institute, I  _ swear.” _

She held up a hand. “I believe you. I remember you mentioning something about Elias changing the policies on the 17th, and the insurance company said the most recent changes were made after that. For a frame job, it wasn’t very thorough.”

“A frame job?” Jon echoed. “I’m being framed?”

Basira sighed. “It looks like it, yes.”

Jon sat back in his chair. Basira let him think for a few moments. “Bas—Detective Hussain,” Jon corrected himself. “Why were you undercover in the Magnus Institute?”

“We were sent to investigate Elias Bouchard,” she said.

“For what?”

She bit her lip. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but... Murder and fraud. Have you heard the name Jurgen Leitner?”

“Leitner? The man who left his estate to the Institute?”

Basira nodded. “His death was suspicious, and came shortly after the changes to his will were made. Daisy and I were sent to investigate Bouchard and see if we could find out anything linking him to it.”

“But, wait,” Jon said, putting his hand on the table. “Daisy wanted a new job! I got calls for references! I lost sleep over it!”

Looking apologetic, Basira said, “She wanted to test how loyal you were to him. I thought it was—well, it wasn’t my call.”

Jon rubbed his hands over his face and took another drink of water. Once he’d put the bottle down, Basira said, “Look, we don’t need to keep you any longer, I just wanted to answer some of your questions. Martin’s waiting outside.”

Martin. Jon stood up, and Basira followed suit. “We’ll call you in a few days to make an official statement,” she said. Jon nodded, and she led him out of the room and through a labyrinth of hallways before depositing him in a lobby. Martin whirled on them as they approached, his face streaked with tears. “You  _ bastard,” _ he said, his voice wobbly. “You horrid,  _ hypocritical—” _ Jon walked into him and Martin engulfed him, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing so hard he lifted Jon off the floor. “Never do that again.” Martin set Jon down but didn’t let go of him. Jon, for his part, was clinging to Martin with all the strength he had left. “Never, ever do that again.”

“Can we go home?” Jon said thickly from where his mouth was mashed into Martin’s shoulder. “I want to go home, can we go home?”

“Yeah.” Martin kissed the top of his head and unwrapped his arms, taking hold of Jon’s unburnt hand. “Let’s go home.”

\----

“Ready?” Georgie asked; Melanie could feel her fidgeting. Her dress in its dry-cleaner sheath was rustling in one arm, the other linked through Melanie’s.

“You’re so nervous, it’s like we’re getting married again,” Melanie said, more than a little fond, and rapped on Jon and Martin’s door.

“I wasn’t this nervous when  _ we _ got married,” Georgie muttered before the door opened.

“Hi Georgie, Melanie,” Martin said, his voice high and thin. “Georgie, Jon’s upstairs. I’ve got the lower level.”

“Right-o,” Georgie said. She pressed a kiss to Melanie’s cheek and stepped away. “See you outside,” she said, and then her footsteps disappeared into the house.

“You ready, mate?” Melanie clapped Martin on the arm and moved past him into the house. “Which way are we going? I haven’t got your new layout memorized yet.”

“Right.” Melanie stuck out her arm and Martin linked his through it. “And yes, I’m ready.”

“You sound like you’re about to die.”

“Kinda feels that way, but I think I’ll pull through.” Martin led her into a room and shut the door behind them. He picked up her hand and put it on something soft—the back of an armchair. She sat down. “You look nice,” he offered.

Melanie fingered her lapels. “Georgie did the bowtie. You really don’t mind the boots?”

“Of course not.” Martin sank heavily into a chair of his own. “Wouldn’t be you if you weren’t wearing them.”

“Not very wedding appropriate.” She tapped one against the other.

He gave a strangled little laugh. “Not exactly a typical wedding.”

“Ah.” She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “This is about your mum.”

He sighed. “I don’t even want her here, is the thing. She’d make everything awful, I know that. I just  _ feel _ her everywhere, like her absence is palpable.”

“Right,” Melanie said. “Easy fix. Where would you sit her, if she were here?”

“Front and center, I suppose.”

“Right. So that’s my seat.”

“What?” He sounded so shocked, bless him.

“I’m your mum now, Martin. Your old one was crap, so I’m taking over. New management of the position. Oh, there you go,” she added as she heard him sniffle. “First cry today?”

“Not remotely.” He fished a handkerchief out of somewhere and blew his nose loudly. “Thanks, Melanie.”

“Anything for my favorite son.” She grinned. “I have a present for you.”

“We said no gifts, Melanie,” Martin sighed.

“You’ll want this one.” Melanie reached into her bag and pulled out the envelope inside. “This, I am reliably informed, is filled with Georgie’s most treasured possessions. Or at least, the possessions of Georgie’s that  _ you _ would most treasure. They’re yours now, from both of us.”

She threw the envelope towards him and heard his hands clap shut on it. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “Is this what I think it is?” Paper rustled.

“Mhm. College pictures of Jon.”

“Oh my god, his  _ hair.” _

Melanie kept him distracted for a good hour until Tim and Sasha showed up. Sasha disappeared upstairs to help fuss over Jon, and Tim wrangled Martin into his suit. “Lookin’ sharp, Blackwood,” he proclaimed, his hands brushing over Martin’s jacket.

“You look lovely,” Melanie offered. Martin laughed wetly.

Tim’s phone buzzed eventually. “They’re all ready upstairs,” he reported.

Melanie stood. “Lead the way, kid.” Martin took her arm again and they made their way outside. He settled her into a chair and went to go stand in his place, Tim stationed at the video camera in the back.

Georgie’s familiar tread raced by, her hand passing lightly over Melanie’s shoulder as she took her own position by Martin. Melanie could tell when Jon appeared because Martin started to cry again, soft sniffles as he wiped his nose. Her own eyes were burning, and she was grateful for her sunglasses. Discreetly she wiped away a tear before it could run down her cheek and betray her.

Jon must have made his way to Martin, because Georgie began. “Hello, everyone,” she said. “I think we all know why we’re here today, and I’ve been warned off taking too long, so consider this a wedding speed-run.” A laugh around the five-person audience; the low, unfamiliar chuckle must be Sasha, and Melanie recognized Daisy and Basira’s voices, although she’d never heard Daisy laugh before. “We all know what marriage is about, we’ve all been to weddings before, and seen movies, and read books. So let’s skip right to the part where these boys tell us what it means to them, since that’s the important part. Jon?”

Jon’s rumble of a voice said, “I never thought to have a partner, not really. Never thought there’d be anyone I ever trusted enough.” Melanie could picture Georgie trying hard to keep a straight face, the only other person in the room Jon had ever dated, and it made her smile. “That’s what it is for me. Trust. Trust that when someone says they love you, they mean it, and won’t take it away on a whim or treat it like an inconvenience. Trust that someone  _ knows _ you, to your core, and chooses you anyway. And that’s you, Martin. You know me better than anyone ever has, and I do mean anyone, and I know you, and I choose you, always.” Melanie could tell Jon was crying but his voice never wavered or faltered. “I choose you forever, Martin Blackwood, and I trust you with my whole life.”

“Martin?” Georgie prompted.

Martin had to take a second to collect himself before starting. “I think everyone here knows that my family situation’s pretty crap.” Another laugh from the group. “So that’s what this is, for me. Making a new family starts with finding a person,  _ your  _ person, and that’s you for me, Jon. You’re my person, and I never expected to have one of those. The first ones you’re supposed to get, your parents, weren’t mine, and I just figured, that was it. That was my chance, gone. But I was wrong, and I’ve never been more glad to be wrong. I get a person today, and I’ve just been informed I get a new mum today too,” he added, laughing. Melanie whistled, loud and sharp. “I choose you forever too, Jonathan Sims.”

“That was beautiful,” Georgie said, her voice thick with tears. “From all of us who are gathered here today out of love for you two, I now pronounce you married. You may seal it however you’d like.”

Melanie heard fabric rustling as Jon and Martin did their version of a kiss, and then Tim was whooping from the back and everyone burst into applause. She cheered louder than anyone, thumping her heavy boots on the grass along with her clapping.

“Party time!” Tim hollered. Georgie found Melanie in the ensuing crush, or as much of a crush as there could be with eight people, and took her arm.

“You did great,” Melanie murmured. Georgie kissed her shoulder and led her inside.

\----

Martin woke with a start and slapped his alarm off. His husband  _ (husband, _ two months and it was still making him blush) groaned and buried his face deeper into his pillow. Martin patted his shoulder and rolled out of bed.

Ceaseless Watcher was reopening today, entirely owned and operated by its employees after Elias’ arrest for murder, embezzlement, and insurance fraud. It turned out he’d upped the prices at the shop to try and drive away customers, to avoid anyone getting caught in the fire. Martin liked to think it was out of some shred of kindness in his shriveled black heart, although Jon was of the opinion that it was because it would have lowered his insurance payout if anyone got hurt.

He’d had no such compunctions about bombing the Institute, and Martin still shuddered to think what could have happened—what almost  _ did _ happen. But Daisy was on track to walk again, and Jon’s lungs had been pronounced clear of ash within a week of the fire, and no one had died. The insurance company had paid out to Jon, who was running the Institute on a shoestring out of their house while the offices were rebuilt.

Jon flopped his way out of bed in time to hug Martin on his way out the door. “Love you,” Martin said into his hair. Jon grumbled something indistinct into his chest, which Martin took in the spirit it was intended.

There was a crowd gathered outside the shop even at 6am, all their loyal customers come for the reopening. “Half an hour,” Martin said apologetically as he darted through and unlocked the door for Tim and Sasha. “Half an hour and we’ll be ready for you.” He locked the door behind them just to be safe.

Tim whistled at the refurbished counter area. “Slick.” He was wearing one of Sasha’s shirts, like Martin wouldn’t notice a thing like that, but neither of them had said anything to Martin about it, so he just kept mum and started portioning out supplies to each of the tables while Tim got the coffee going and Sasha booted up the registers.

They’d decided to keep the big eye painting, in the end. All their customers knew them as the Watcher, and after all Elias hadn’t put it there himself. Martin was rather fond of it, in his own way, and it hadn’t taken any damage in the fire, so they’d painted around it and moved on.

Half an hour flew by. “Ready?” Martin called to Tim and Sasha, moving over to the door.

“Ready!” they chorused, Tim at the register and Sasha in place by the espresso machine. Martin took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and stepped aside as the crowd rushed in, a sleep-rumped Jon among them. They totally had this.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://thewalrus-said.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://twitter.com/thewalrus_said)!


End file.
